


Stone Cold Sober

by DeathByShyKid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Destiel - Freeform, I say both because it's like not season 4 when they meet and instead season 2 but oh well???, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Slow Burn, how to tag, tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByShyKid/pseuds/DeathByShyKid
Summary: Ever since he woke up beside his unconscious body, no one being able to see him, Dean's felt eyes on him - more specifically, the eyes of an angel.Or, Dean doesn't meet Castiel after being raised from Hell - he meets him after being hit by a truck (season one finale) and they fall in love (slow burn because romance???).





	Stone Cold Sober

When Dean was fourteen, he was hit by a car.

The teenager, at the time, had been waiting in his dad's Chevy Impala – now his – when a drunk driver swerved off the road trying not to hit a deer, slamming into the driver's side of the vehicle. The driver was killed instantaneously from the initial hit – he probably didn't feel a thing, the stench of booze clinging to him even after death – but Dean still lived on, crushed between the steering wheel and the door clinging to his ribs.

It was scary, and he was awake for the entirety of it.

He's not entirely sure what had happened before that time, before the accident – of what they were hunting – but he knows that Sam and his dad weren't there when he got hit by a car. Dean's not even sure how much time had passed before the two came back, rushing over to help pry him out of the damaged car. There's a lot of that day that he can't remember, like if he had cried at all during that time or if he'd passed out from the pain.

After the accident, it took almost three months of healing for him to get back to any kind of monster-stopping hunter. Sam had constantly insisted on having his big brother just take a load of – relax a little, he always told Dean – but he never liked to sit still for long. And John? John was always in a constant state of complete worry or complete indifference. Sometimes it hurts to see his dad pull away from him but most nights, Dean just remembered that he still had Sammy by the end of the day and that was alright.

What wasn't alright was that he was going to have to relive it all over again. Twelve years after his first accident, he was going to have to see his brother cry over him again and his father pulls away from them. However, this time, it's different.

Dean can see his body in the hospital bed, the limp thing hooked up on blood transfusions and plugged into all kinds of machinery. The mask over his face breathed life into him, consistently, over and over again, him being unable to do it for himself. Stitches cover his body, his face being the exclusive showcase of this as all other marks and cuts were hidden under layers of bandages surrounding his chest and arms. He wasn't sure if anything had been broken or if he could even be repaired at this point.

His stomach felt like it was full of lead, churning underneath the pressure. Dean finds himself taking deep breaths, looking down at his hands – their ghostly, he thinks to himself. He goes to touch something, watching with a mixture of complete awe and horror filling him as his fingertips passing right through the object. Stepping back, the twenty-six-year-old man searches the room for anything,  _anyone_.

Nothing.

"Sam?" He calls out, peeking his head out of the doorway to his room. People passed without a care in the world, going about their day like he wasn't there – well, maybe he wasn't. "Dad?" He tried again, stepping out into the hallway. Dean could see how futile this was, he's wasting his energy, but he could feel the stubborn bone in his body forcing himself to continue to try. "Hello?"

Someone walks through his arm, sending a shiver through his spine. The nurse – he's assuming at this point – stiffens up, head turning to their left and blinking twice before shaking their head, disappearing around a corner quickly. Dean watches them go with defeat settling in his heart.

There are panic and fear boiling over deep within him, glancing back at his lifeless body as a constant  _beep_ …  _beep_ …  _beep_ … goes off in his room. He feels shaky. Everything's too quiet but too  _loud_  at the same time and he's  _alone_. For the first time in his life, he is completely alone. Even if Dean didn't have his dad or Sam with him, he still had the oddballs in the bars and the people he'd take to bed to fill his world. Those on the streets that greeted him with soft smiles and waves or the strange creatures in the night that are out for his blood make sure he's never alone.

But now…

Dean shifts from foot-to-foot, unsure of what to do. The definite answer is to wait out this entire thing – wait until his body decides it's time to wake up and let him out of this middle ground between life and death. However, the more pressing question is what to do with the time in between  _then_ and  _now_?

A doctor walks through him, stumbling a bit as their shoulders tense. Unlike the nurse from beforehand, this newcomer doesn't turn towards him; they just bolt off to some unknown location. "Well, for one thing," His voice sounds weird out loud, "I probably shouldn't be standing in the way of everyone."

And so, Dean starts walking.

He checks out the area, internally keeping an eye out for his dad or brother. Besides that, there isn't really much going on through his head. Well, that's not entirely true. He kind of feels like something is… watching him? Dean's not sure but he has that  _feeling_ that there is someone just out of sight  _watching_ him. He keeps an ear out for it in case it makes a sound but finds nothing.

After maybe an hour, he starts to get bored with one white hall after another and the same somber patients being treated by serious doctors. Dean goes back to his room, taking a seat across from where his body lies untouched. He waits for a while with his thoughts on replay, silently lying and waiting. The man doesn't start back up with life until his little brother hobbles into the room.

Dean shoots up out of his seat, bare feet not making any sound as they slam onto the ground from being in a hurry. He goes around to the other side of his hospital bed to face his brother, hands out in front of him as if Sam might disappear. The other man's swollen eyes are watery, and his face is banged up but it's nowhere near as bad as Dean's.

"Sammy." Dean feels a grin tugging at his lips, a kind of peace settling within him after knowing that his brother is okay. "You look good… considering…" His words die down as a chuckle escapes him. He clears his throat still finding it weird for him to talk out loud; his voice doesn't exactly sound the same – it's hoarser than it had ever been.

Dean looks expectantly at the younger man, eyes searching for any kind of recognition for what he'd said. Sam doesn't look at him, eyes trained on the non-moving body glued to the bed. "Oh no…" Sam whispers out, jaw tensing a bit. He walks towards the bed, never even once glancing at Dean – well, the one speaking, not the one on the bed.

"Man, tell me you can hear me." Dean felt desperate but keeps his voice steady.

Sam's hand moves up to cover his eyes before looking at anything besides his unconscious brother; he's looking around like his world is about to end, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

The eldest of the two tries again, "How's Dad? Is he okay?" He looks up at his little brother who still cannot find his eyes.

Sam swallows thickly, looking down at the patient.

" _Come_   _on_ , you're the psychic. Give me some ghost whispering or something." Dean's jaw tenses, taking a step towards the bed, keeping an eye on his brother.

A male doctor walks in, Dean immediately looking up to him, "Your father's awake." Sam turns around quickly, eyes wide and pleading. Dean can find some empathy with that, immediately heading for the door. The doctor nods mostly to himself, "You can go see him if you'd like."

Dean breathes out, relieved, "Oh, thank God."

Sam, however, does not move, eyes looking down again, "What about my brother, Doc? Is he going to be okay?"

"Well, he sustained a serious injury – blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney, but it's the head trauma I'm worried about." He explains simply, Sam instantly looking over at his brother, "There are early signs of cerebral edema."

Deans looks at his body too, unsure of what to make of the situation. He's not entirely sure what cerebral edema means but it doesn't sound very good at all.

Sam turns back to the doctor, "Well, what can we do?" He has that look in his eye, one that Dean could always recognize as his little brother fighting back tears. "There has to be something we can do, right?" The desperation in his voice makes Dean want to shrink.

The doctor huffs a bit, "Well, we won't know his full condition until he wakes up." There was a pause. " _If_ he wakes up." Why did he have to add the  _if_?

Sam gulps, like his mouth was dry, "If?"

"I have to be honest-"

"Screw you, Doc, I'm waking up!" Dean interrupts, a growl at the base of his throat, "Don't believe him, Sammy!"

"-most people with his degree of injury wouldn't have survived this long. He's fighting very hard, but you need to have realistic expectations, son." The doctor nods mostly to himself, "There's a very large chance that your brother won't wake up."

Dean takes a step forward, "Come on, Sam. Go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me. I'll be good as new in no time." He may have sounded desperate, but he would not give up,  _couldn't_ give up. Not now, not when they were so close to defeating the demon who took away his mother. There's a devastated look in his brother's eyes. "Sam?"

Instead, his brother just nods and walks out, allowing the doctor to show him to his father's room.

"Sam?!" Dean chases after him, "Sam, you have to believe me. I'm going to be okay!"

The brown-haired man wipes his eyes of his tears, the doctor spouting off some nonsense of ways of making his brother 'comfortable' in his days of dying. Like  _hell_ he was dying! But there's no way to make his brother see reason – he can't even see or hear Dean, which makes it pretty difficult to change Sam's point of view.

So, Dean follows instead – keeps his mouth shut and just  _follows_. He's always been pretty good at that.

Walking into his father's room was a relief, seeing John up and running with more than a few injuries. He looked good though, healthy and ready to take on the world at any moment. Dean gave the man a once-over before going to lean against the wall, listening in on John's and his brother's conversation. He's a little bored, watching as his dad hands over a card to Sam for insurance purposes.

Dean tries his best to hear what they're actually saying but he's distracted – that  _thing_ is still watching him. He can't determine where this feeling is coming from – it feels like it's from everywhere at once – but the man can't exactly pinpoint it. It doesn't feel like anything familiar which freaks him out a bit. The blond shakes his head, desperately trying to hear the conversation happening in front of him.

The only thing he's privy to is the part where Sam and John start fighting again. Dean's jaw tenses angered a bit at how John wished for the colt rather than wonder about his health. The staring from  _somewhere_ is starting to make his paranoid, antsy from where he stood. "I can't take this shit anymore." Even though he spoke, Dean's not entirely sure what 'shit' his can't take any more – the arguing or the staring. He leaves the room quickly, wandering back to his body.

Just like before, Dean takes his spot in the corner of the room but doesn't actually go near it. This time, despite the near instantaneous feeling of being watched the minute he sits down, he doesn't think, only feels. There are no thoughts running through his head, just an empty,  _cold_ feeling.

It's later in the night when John joins him in the hospital room, hobbling in there like a poor, pitiful cat washed out in the rain.

And after a while of silence, Dean approaches him, "Come on, Dad,  _come on_."

The man doesn't look at him.

"You've got to  _help_  me." He tried again, jaw tensing up, "I've got to get better, you know. I have to get back in there – it's the family business."

Nothing.

Dean takes a deep breath, arms lifting and falling to his side in exasperation, "I mean, you haven't called a  _soul_  for help. You haven't even  _tried_. Aren't you going to do  _anything_?" He wished he could stop the quiver in his voice, the defeated feeling in his heart. He searches himself for the strength to stand up against his father.

There was nothing he could do in the silence that surrounds him.

Anger starts to fester up within him, "Aren't you even gonna  _say_  anything?"

John looks down a bit, eyes fixed on the floor, feet shuffling against each other.

"I've done  _everything_  you have ever  _asked_  me.  _Everything_." His words were no longer a shout, just a low boiling murmur, "I've given everything I've ever  _had_. Now you're just gonna  _sit_  there, and you're gonna watch me  _die_?!"

John's eyes are sad, unmoving and silent.

"I mean, what the  _hell_  kind of father are you?" Suddenly, Dean hears a low rumbling, "What's happening?!" He marches out of the room, nearly getting run over by a spirit of some sorts. He blinks once before looking back at his father to see if he'd say anything about what just happened. "I take it you didn't see that." He says to himself, taking off.

Deans follows the weird spirit down hallways and around corners, actively looking for it now. He passes a doorway and the spirit goes behind him into a new room. The blond turns around quickly, side-stepping into the room where a girl is choking on the floor. Dean looks back into the hallway, seeing a nurse and a doctor. "Hey! I need some help in here!" They don't look at him, can't even hear his voice.

She's desperate, eyes red and watery. Her hands claw at her throat, looking up at him, "H-H-He…lp…"

Dean watches as the woman dies silently, eyes wide with terror.

He's not sure how long he stands there, motionless and shocked to the bone. Maybe it was too long because whatever's still staring at him got closer, Dean can  _feel_ it. So much so that he got a quick glimpse of it. As soon as his eyes were on it, though, his stalker immediately disappeared as if it had never existed.

He takes a moment to reflect on what he'd seen. Unlike the spirit who'd taken this poor woman's life, the one just down the hallway behind a corner was a cool blue color with an outline of white – it was a bit blinding. It was ghostly but… beautifully terrifying. It carried an air of authority around it, no hint of shyness in it despite it hiding from him.

Maybe Dean's not supposed to know about it, he thinks to himself as he makes it back to his father's hospital room. However, the more pressing thing is what the  _hell_ was that thing that killed that woman earlier and how can he kill it.

He peeks his head into John's room, seeing both his dad and bother inside. Relief fills him, marching to stand beside the taller man, "Sammy, please tell me you can freaking hear me, man. There's something in the hospital, this spirit kind-of-thing. You've got to bring me back, so we got to hunt this thing together."

His brother starts unpacking something from a bag, never hearing a word he says.

"SAM!" He shouts, trying again – nothing.

John clears his voice, looking at his youngest son, "You're quiet."

Sam turns to face his father, anger in his eyes, "You think I wouldn't find out?!"

"What are you talking about?" The older man tilts his head, not exactly understanding where his son's coming from.

"The stuff from Bobby. You don't use it to 'ward off a demon', you use it to  _summon_  one." He says viciously, dumping out the contents of the bag, "You're planning on bringing the demon  _here_ , aren't you – having some stupid macho showdown." His anger is shown through his body movements, arms widespread out in an 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me' stance.

Dean watches in disbelief behind the two, unsure of what he should say. The one time the world needs him to play peace-maker between two Winchester roundhouses, he's in a coma for who-knows-how-long and is currently this weird not-dead ghost.

"I have a plan, Sam," John says simply, voice monotone. Dean's almost sure that his father would have rolled his eyes if he didn't have any control over himself.

"That's exactly my  _point_!" Sam raised his voice, years' worth of anger and hatred fueling this single moment, "Dean is  _dying_ , and you have a  _plan_! You know what, you care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son!"

Dean stuttered out a breath, stepping closer to the hospital bed. "No, no,  _no_! Guys, don't do this!" He ushers out quickly, looking between the two.

John pointed an accusing finger at Sam, "Do  _not_  tell me how  _I_  feel. I am doing this _for_  Dean."

" _How_?" Sam accuses back, Dean looking in between them, "How is  _revenge_  going to help him?! You're not thinking about anybody but  _yourself_! It's the same selfish obsession!"

Dean took a deep breath, rubbing his head and temples. "Come on guys, don't do this." If he sounded exasperated, it's because he  _is_. Now would probably be a nice time for a distraction from his stalker, take away his attention from what was happening at this moment but, no matter how hard he tried to sense them, his stalker kept his attention away.

"That's  _funny_. I thought this was your obsession too." John shot back suddenly, voice raised, "This demon killed  _your_ mother, killed  _your_ girlfriend. You  _begged_  me to be a part of this hunt! No, if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance,  _none_  of this would have happened!"

"It was  _possessing_  you. I would have killed you, too!" Sam's face was red, hot with anger, fists balled together as if he was about to take a swing at his dad.

"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now!" John shouted out.

" _Shut up_ , both of you!" Dean cried out, his voice never being heard. He desperately looked between the two, eyebrows furrowed together.

"Go to hell." Sam hissed out, nose flaring up.

"I should have never taken you along in the first place." John says then, voice level with tension, "I knew it was a mistake."

Dena looked around for anything, anger boiling up to the top. "I said  _shut up_!" His voice was elevated, hand swinging to a glass.

Surprisingly, it slid off the table, falling to the floor and shattering upon impact.

Silence filled the room as the three men looked at the ground. They looked to each other – well, Sam and John exchanging a look.

Dean blinked slowly, amazed at himself, "Dude, I full-on swayzed that mother."

The rumbling is back, and he can feel himself falling to his knees. His stalker is back but the sense of them is much stronger than before. He can't exactly focus on that at the moment, eyes glued to his hands, watching them as they blink in and out of focus. His innards burn with pain so unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Dean takes deep breaths, but nothing seems to be filling his lungs. "What the-" He tries to voice out, stopping to breathe hoarsely out of his parted mouth, "What the  _hell_  is going on?"

Dean barely catches John motioning for his brother to go check it out the ringing going on in the hospital, Sam flying into high-gear. He hates the look on the brown-haired man's face, the panic in his eyes. Dean, despite how much it hurts him, pulls himself off the floor and out into the hallway. He moves as fast as he can back to his room.

The first thing he can hear is the flat-lining sound coming from his hospital room. Sam is waiting by the doorway, fingers clutching against the frame with tears streaming down his face, watching silently as his brother dies. However, what Dean saw was horrifying.

The spirit he saw before was back and, this time, it was out to kill him.

"Get back!" He shouts out, the spirit continuing to reach for his face. He marches forward, unwilling to allow his brother to watch him die and too stubborn to let it happen anyway. "I said  _get_   _back_!" Dean shouts out menacingly, grabbing the spirit harshly. That  _thing_ shrieks before disappears from the room, allowing the doctors to bring him back to life.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

Sam looks around the room as if he'd heard something. He shakes it off before sighing out in relief, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Dean looks to his little brother, feeling his heart trying to calm down. "Don't worry Sammy, I'm not going anywhere." He says out loud, "I'm getting that thing before it gets me." He pauses. "It's some kind of spirit, but I could grab it. And if I can grab it, I can kill it."

The brown-haired man beside him doesn't say anything, still clutching to the doorframe, eyes a mixture of relief and anxiety. Dean gives his brother a look, silencing himself from saying anything else. Talking's futile at this point, he's not even sure why he continues to speak at all – maybe it's to bring him comfort.

For an hour or two, he stays with his brother, standing up against the wall behind the chair Sam sat in by his bedside. Dean would have already left to wander some more, collect his thoughts while keeping a look-out for that wild spirit that's trying to kill him but, he wanted to make sure his brother would be okay. He doesn't  _look_ okay – Sammy's eyes are rimmed with red and he doesn't look like he's slept in a  _long_ time.

Dean not exactly sure if his brother's eating as he should.

He doesn't leave until his dad joins Sam in his room, knowing that the two will keep each other company. It comforts him more than it might for them, just seeing them be near each other while he's in a coma because, if this is it for him, Dean wants to make sure that his father and brother will have each other.

The eyes are back on him, watching his every move through the hospital. Dean watches the area with a keen eye, making a show of how he  _knows_ something's there in hopes that  _whatever_ is staring at him will just appear.

Still nothing.

The blond goes to head up the stairs when there is a weird glare in his peripheral vision. It's like a blue glow of  _something_  unfamiliar. A spirit? Maybe. Poltergeist? Maybe not. Creature? Definitely. Whatever it is, it's standing perfectly in the middle of the lobby just  _staring_ at  _him_.

While unnerving, Dean can't help the bit of adrenaline running through him just ready to pick a fight.

He swerves around only to be nearly face-to-face with the strange being. Surprised by how close it was to him, the twenty-six-year-old jumps back quickly, shuffling until he's made a bit of distance between him and it. He tried to stare it in the eyes – or where eyes should be? – but he just couldn't; that thing was too  _bright_ and way to fucking  _blinding_. Dean covered his eyes, squinting considerably, lowering his voice and standing defensively in front of the glowing creature, "Who are you?"

"We need to talk, Dean." The newcomer just tilted their head as if their answer would suffice enough.

He took a moment to hear that  _thing's_ words before firing back as much as he could between trying not to look into something equivalent of the sun, "Who are  _you_?!"

It didn't move, didn't miss a beat, "I am an Angel of the Lord."

"Angels aren't real." Dean grumbled out, barring his teeth a little, "There's no such thing." He felt naked without a gun or a dagger of some kind.

Silence filled between them as that thing took a step toward him – he simply tried his best to shield his eyes. "I guess I was wrong." They said solemnly.

"What are you talking about?" Dean grit his teeth, continuing to move away from the bright bulb of energy in front of him.

"I had expected you of all people to see my true visage without shunning away but I guess I'd hoped for too much." The strange being simply shook, like they were shrugging off a coat and, just like that, the shimmer of the sun was gone.

Dean blinked more than a few times to get the glare out of his eyes, peeking out from behind his fingers to see a… a man? The person before him was a few inches shorter than him with fairish skin and a scruffy face. His bright blue eyes contrasted heavily with his dark black hair. He looked like any other man that's walking and talking right now but Dean had already seen this…  _creature's_  true form.

They gave him a strange look, tilting its head. "We need to talk." The strange man said again.

"Who are you?" He hadn't meant to make his voice that quiet, but he was feeling a mixture of horror and awe at the moment.

"Castiel."

Dean rolled his eyes, body still in a defensive position, "Yeah, I get that much, I mean,  _what_ are you?"

"I have already told you, I'm an Angel of the Lord." Castiel stated, mimicking a blink, "Have some faith, Dean."

The man scoffed, fists balling up, "Get the hell out of here."

"That's your problem, you don't believe." He took a step forward, the lights in the hospital starting to explode with a surge of electricity, some flickering in and out. Dean would have been just as startled as the staff around him had he not been staring at the shadowed wings appearing behind Castiel. Shock makes his stomach jerk.

Dean took a moment to collect him, now in the darkness of the hallway with some unearthly being in front of him. "Look, I'm not buying what you're selling." He breathed in deeply, "So, who are you really."

"I've told you this already. I don't know how many times I need repeat myself." Castiel had the decency to sound exasperated.

"Right." Dean pursed his lips, rolling his eyes, "And why would an angel decide to come to visit me of all people?"

He titled his head, "To save you from dying at that crossroads."

"I don't believe you."

Castiel stepped towards him again – the Winchester moving away just as fast, "Good things  _do_ happen, Dean."

He shook his head, "Not in my experience."

"What's the matter?" The supposed angel was silent only for a moment, "You don't think you deserved to be saved or that you're not worthy of it." He said this as if he was simply stating a fact.

Dean grits his teeth, looking away but keeping the other man in his peripheral vision. He searched for the right thing to say. "Why'd you do it?" The words were strained but it was all he could manage right now.

Castiel didn't miss a beat, "Because God commanded it."

Dean looked up at the angel, " _What_?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first Supernatural story ever! It's not that good, but I enjoyed writing it. Not sure when I'll be able to continue this – I strained for weeks to write this much, so expect the same for any following chapters. I plan on this being an extremely slow burn up until maybe season four or five where it'll end. There might be ten to fifteen chapters depending on how much I can smoosh into one chapter before I get burnt out on writing for this. Until next time… whenever that might be.


End file.
